


Beach Dogs

by Evandar



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bestiality, Comeplay, Knotting, M/M, Mating Bond, animal sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2014-05-21
Packaged: 2018-01-25 23:59:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1667243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evandar/pseuds/Evandar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set post-PoA. Sirius escapes to Haiti, taking Remus with him. They take advantage of the solitude to renew their relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beach Dogs

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for HP_Kink 2014, for Prompt #163.

There was a small village not far away from the beach house, with a shop that sold British Muggle newspapers, sweets and necessities. They mainly catered to the tourists who stayed at the resort on the other side of the bay – wealthy socks-and-sandals types who couldn’t survive without the day’s broadsheet to distract them from their children – but Remus had taken to making the walk every day to clear his head and get some space, and to check what the press were reporting about Sirius.

So far, Haiti was not on the list of places Sirius Black had been spotted. According to _The Times_ , he was hiding somewhere not far from Scunthorpe. 

Remus was pretty sure that Sirius had never been to Scunthorpe in his life. Haiti, on the other hand, was home to a sprawling plantation surrounded by acres of rainforest and private beach; a place Sirius called the ‘beach house’ like it was some kind of quaint little holiday villa he’d rented out for the occasion instead of a heavily warded family property. _Gringotts_ was probably less well defended.

The Blacks were breathtakingly wealthy. Remus was pretty sure that Sirius had no idea _how_ wealthy beyond knowing that he’d never even make it through his childhood trust vault. He, on the other hand, had been receiving Sirius’ bank statements for the last twelve years (Goblins didn’t care if your listed next of kin was the werewolf you’d eloped with at sixteen; next of kin was next of kin to them, regardless of the Ministry’s blustering) and knew quite well. 

It was him who’d suggested Haiti. Far away, remote, plenty of sun and sky; Sirius had taken rather well to daily walks on white-sand beaches and swimming in clear blue ocean. His skin – frighteningly pale after twelve years in prison – had tanned, and he was beginning to fill out again. Remus couldn’t count all of his ribs anymore, and his shoulder blades no longer looked like they were trying to tear free of his back. There was more flesh on his face as well, and he no longer looked quite like a breathing Inferius at first glance; he looked – and acted – more like himself now and it was that which had created a need for Remus to escape the estate and clear his head.

At peace and far away from Dementors, Sirius had started to piece the tatters of his memory back together. He hadn’t lost _everything_ \- a combination of Occlumency, the Animagus transformation and obsession with his own innocence had worked to keep the Dementors from shredding his mind completely – but there were gaps that were slowly, excruciatingly being filled in. And as they were filled, more of Remus’ Sirius came back, along with the painful memories he’d _tried_ to forget over the years his Mate had been in Azkaban.

The walk, the small amount of distance, was good for them both. Every instinct was telling him to reclaim his Mate, but with Sirius still healing… He couldn’t. Besides, they did need to keep track of what was happening in the outside world, just in case someone finally got a clue and decided that checking the old, Black family properties might be a good place to start.

…

He found Sirius in the kitchen, surrounded by scattered pans and dishes, but with breakfast made and a small, pleased smile quirking his lips. He looked much like he had the first time, when he’d managed to plate something up by himself without interference from Remus or a House Elf, and presented it with a soft “tadah!” The nostalgia hurt, but Remus smiled through it.

“Still Scunthorpe,” he said by way of greeting, and dropped the paper on the table. “You didn’t have to do this.”

Despite the mess, the crepes looked fantastic. They smelled good too, served as they were with pineapple Sirius had undoubtedly hacked off one of the trees outside. He’d always had a bizarre talent for crepes. Crepes and bacon – and there was plenty of that too, with thick slices of toast.

Sirius’ smile had faded ever so slightly. “You used to like it when I cooked,” he said, and Remus could hear the confusion in his voice. He hated that. Hated putting it there, but everything he said around Sirius seemed to come out wrong these days.

“Did I forget something again?” Sirius asked.

“No. No, you didn’t. It’s just. You’re here to recover.”

He sounded pathetic even to himself, and the look Sirius gave him before he turned away to start on the dishes was something less than pleasant. Remus closed his eyes and sighed, and stepped up behind Sirius to press against his back and slip his arms around his narrow waist.

Sirius had always been thin. He’d always been a bit short, too – premature, he’d explained, and with a hereditary lung condition that had knocked him out of Auror training – and Remus had always felt responsible for the inherent fragility that Sirius was determined to ignore. Never more so than now, when he was thinner than he’d ever been and when his every breath rattled softly in his chest. 

He pressed his nose into Sirius’ hair and breathed him in. He smelled of breakfast and the sea and sunlight; he didn’t smell sick any more, like he had when they’d first been reunited, and Remus took heart in that. Wet, soapy hands closed over his own, holding them in place against the concave belly, and Sirius tilted his head to the side, offering up his throat. An old bite mark, scarred silver, peeked out from under the neck of his T-Shirt – an accusing reminder of what they’d had.

(Sirius would never have made it through Auror training. If the asthma training hadn’t got him kicked out, Remus’ mark on his neck would have instead.)

The longer he hesitated, the more tense he could feel Sirius growing. Something had to give, and at this rate – with the full moon in a week and his Mate in his arms, willing and eager, and every instinct screaming at him to never let him go again – it was going to be Remus.

He ducked his head and pressed his lips to that old mark, flicking his tongue over it lightly. Sirius shuddered and relaxed, boneless, back against Remus’ chest. He’d taken the action as a promise, just like Remus had known he would.

“Breakfast first,” Remus said. It would give him time to come to terms with it.

…

The bedroom Sirius had chosen had once belonged to the mistress of the house. He’d chosen it for the balcony. It overlooked the beach and had an unbroken view of sky and sea for miles – more than once, Remus had come in to find Sirius sleeping on it, the sea breeze ruffling Padfoot’s thick fur – and Sirius kept the French window and the curtains open at all times. 

Azkaban had given him claustrophobia, along with a long list of other ailments. Remus had brewed more healing potions on this island than he’d ever had to since leaving school.

They’d worked, though, to give Sirius the energy he had now. He was acting like a teenager, pulling Remus into deep, teasing kisses as he pulled him towards the bed. 

“I’m not made of glass,” he whispered, nipping at Remus’ lower lip. “I’m not going to break. Please, Remus. I’ve missed you.” And he tipped his head back, peering up at Remus from under long lashes as he bared his throat again, submissive and entirely too determined to get what he wanted. Just like he’d always been – the old Sirius, the ghost of him, still lingered; colder and more bitter than he had been, but still there and still, eternally, Remus’.

Possessiveness surged forth, shattering the last of Remus’ resolve to take things slowly, and he raised his hand to curl his fingers around Sirius’ slender neck. Sirius grinned triumphantly, and Remus growled softly to see it, tightening his grip just enough for his fingernails – more claws, really, at this time of the month – to dig in. Sirius went still, pliant and barely even breathing. His grin vanished as he parted his lips in a soft, pleading expression, but nothing - nothing at all – could take the smug, pleased glimmer from his eyes.

Remus loved that look. It was the look that said Sirius was still his, even after all this time; even after all the screw ups and the accusations. He leaned in and kissed Sirius hard and deep, stealing the last of his breath so that Sirius was panting when he pulled away.

He stripped Sirius bare. It didn’t take long; he wasn’t wearing much – only board shorts and a T-Shirt – because of the heat. He slid hands over the newly tanned skin, inspecting the jut of Sirius’ hips and the new nicks and scars that littered him body. Someone – presumably Sirius himself – had been creative with a knife at one point, and carved the runes from Sirius’ wand onto his hands. He licked each of those scars, sucking Sirius’ fingers into his mouth and laving them with his tongue. He found other scars, from beatings and rats by the look of them, and he licked those too – covering the marks left by others with his own scent. He licked until Sirius was quivering, eager and flushed from the attention, and his cock curving straight up from its nest of curls.

“Kneel,” he growled, and Sirius hurried to obey, dropping to his knees by Remus’ feet, keeping his head tilted back in a submissive pose.

It had surprised Remus when they’d first got together, just how much Sirius enjoyed this. He’d always been larger than life. A bundle of irrepressible energy that defied all limits: even the ones set by his own body. He and James had been very much the ringleaders, but in their relationship – both inside and outside of the bedroom – Sirius had always been happiest when Remus took control.

He stroked his fingers through Sirius’ hair. It was soft and shiny again, but there were strands of silver now, gleaming amongst the black. “Are you sure?” he asked.

He wasn’t sure he’d be able to take rejection, if it came; he didn’t think he could stand to have Sirius ripped away from him again. But he’d rather that than for Sirius to regret this afterwards.

“Always, Remus,” Sirius replied. “Now will you please fuck my brains out before I explode.”

Remus snorted with laughter. “Cheeky bitch,” he muttered, and Sirius grinned up at him. He kept one hand in Sirius’ hair, rubbing small circles into his scalp with his fingertips, while with his other hand he unfastened his cargo shorts and pushed them down over his hips. 

The breeze coming in from the window was delightfully cool as it caressed his cock. He shuddered, taking himself in hand. Sirius watched him, still triumphant, and he licked his lips suggestively. 

It was tempting – so tempting – to thrust straight into that wonderful mouth; to fuck Sirius’ throat until he gagged. He _would_ , later, but first, he wanted to mark him. He wanted Sirius to smell of him again, like he had before; a walking advert for Remus’ dominance for anyone with the nose to smell it.

He touched the head of his cock to Sirius’ cheek, smearing a silvery line of precome down the line of his cheekbone towards his waiting mouth. He could feel Sirius’ breath – hot and damp – ruffling the hairs at the root of him. It took _effort_ to ignore it, and to mark his other cheek the same way. 

“Put your tongue out,” he whispered.

When Sirius obeyed, Remus let himself rest there – just the head – heavy on Sirius’ rough, pink tongue. It felt so, so good. He swallowed and pressed on, moving his hands to cup Sirius’ cheeks so that he could rub his precome into the skin. His scent would last for days now. Even with all their frequent dips in the sea, Remus would still be able to smell himself on Sirius every time he came near.

Done, he thrust his hips forward, sliding his cock along the length of Sirius’ flattened tongue and into his mouth. He held Sirius’ head steady, threading his fingers back into his hair to anchor him as he slowly, steadily, began to fuck his mouth. 

Out of practise, it took Sirius a little longer to adjust to Remus length than it had in the past. He gagged the first few times Remus pushed in, and Remus heard him take deep, steadying breaths through his nose. Then, finally, he felt Sirius swallow around him. He felt the soft, pleased moan that Sirius always made when he had his mouth full, and he withdrew.

He set a slow, steady rhythm. He couldn’t rush this. Not when Sirius looked so beautiful on his knees; his red lips stretched wide and shiny with spit around Remus’ cock. His pupils were blown, huge and glittering black, and he was looking up at Remus with such peaceful contentment that he couldn’t. He absolutely couldn’t rush this.

With every thrust, Sirius’ tongue fluttered along the underside of his shaft. It would curl up around the head when Remus withdrew, and then swirl its way back down the length of him, undulating against the vein while his throat worked. Remus could feel his balls tightening, drawing up in anticipation as his knot swelled. He almost stopped Sirius, then. Almost pulled him away so that he could fuck him before he came, but he changed his mind, relaxing his grip on Sirius’ hair. They had all day for that. 

Instead he pulled out only at the last moment, coming hard over Sirius’ face. Streaks of white splashed over sharp cheekbones and the bridge of Sirius’ aristocratic nose. Some of it fell into his still open mouth, and Remus watched him swallow eagerly before he licked and suckled the last drops from the head of Remus’ cock, sending shivers down his spine.

He pulled Sirius back up onto his feet. His Mate was still hard. He hadn’t touched himself – Remus knew he wouldn’t until he was commanded to – and he was dripping with arousal, purple-headed and aching. He slipped his arm around Sirius’ waist and pulled him close, then dropped a hand down between them to wrap around his prick. A few short tugs and Sirius was coming, hard, pressing his face into Remus’ shoulder and smearing come over his skin as he cried out, clutching on to Remus tight.

“Just taking the edge off,” Remus told him, whispering it right into his ear and making Sirius shiver. “I want you to last when I fuck you.”

He felt Sirius’ grin, before his tongue sneaked out and lapped at Remus’ shoulder – chasing the taste of come. “Think you’ve got another round in you, then?” he asked.

Remus swatted him hard, drawing a pained yelp from his Mate. He wondered if Sirius realised just how canine he sounded, even in human form. Probably not, although – knowing Sirius – he’d take it as a compliment if Remus told him just how perfectly needy he sounded.

“Why?” he asked instead. “Do you not think you can handle it, you old dog?”

“Woof,” Sirius replied, utterly deadpan, and thrust himself up into Remus’ hand. 

…

The remains of Remus’ come had dried on Sirius’ face. It had to be itchy by now, but Sirius seemed content to ignore it in favour of pushing back onto Remus’ fingers.

He was hard again, but there was no rush. They’d learned the hard way, years ago, that rushing preparation led to cushioning charms and awkward questions from Madame Pomphrey. Remus was big. He also tended to be rough, and while Sirius was a vocal fan of that _at the time_ , he usually wasn’t afterwards. It was just as well that he enjoyed being slowly fingered open while Remus littered his back and arse with nips and bites.

Remus had to be careful doing it, especially this close to the full moon. (It would completely defeat the point if he slashed Sirius open with his claws by accident.) But he loved the sight of Sirius stretched around his hand; the feel of his muscles fluttering as he nudged his hips back, and the soft heat of him. He even loved the smell. Sirius was clean, and here his natural scent was strongest, earthier than the rest of him and utterly irresistible. 

He bit into the curve of Sirius’ arse, earning a long, drawn-out moan. “Fuck, Remus,” he whined. 

Remus laughed breathlessly against him and bit again. Again and again, moving slowly up Sirius’ back, so that he was covering his body. He pulled out his fingers, using them to coat himself with lubricant, before steadying his balance. He thrust himself along the crease of Sirius’ arse, feeling his hole flutter and clench as the head of his cock caught on the rim.

Sirius whined, pressing back and urging Remus on. He was presenting himself, acting very much like a good Mate should – behaviour he’d picked up years ago from the strange combination of textbooks and the instincts that came with a canine Animagus form. It was…it was flattering that he’d taken the behaviour up in the first place; incredible that he’d remembered it after all this time.

When, with his next slow slide along Sirius’ crack, he caught his rim again, he shifted the angle of his hips so that he was pressing in. Beneath him Sirius whined at the stretch – his body still tight even after being prepared for so long – and he panted, clenching and unclenching his fists in the sheets. Leaning over him, Remus could see the way his face twisted in pleasure, and he licked up the line of Sirius’ jaw towards his ear.

“I’ve missed you,” he admitted softly. He nipped lightly at the shell of Sirius’ ear to punctuate it. “So much, Sirius.”

Sirius shifted, wiggling one of his hands closer so that he could wrap his scarred fingers around Remus’ own. Then he tilted his head to the side again; offered himself up again, revealing the old scar on his shoulder. Remus kissed a path down to it, awkward because of the angle, and thrust his hips harder into Sirius’ arse. His knot was swelling again – he could feel it – and he wanted Sirius to be stretched around it when he marked him again.

Sirius cried out loudly when Remus’ cock hit his prostate. “Fuck, Remus,” he whispered. “Fuck, please. _Harder_.”

Hearing his Mate – his _Sirius_ \- begging for him broke something inside of him. He surged forward, snapping his hips, giving Sirius exactly what he wanted – fucking him hard and fast until his knot managed to slip inside. The noise Sirius made as they were locked together was halfway between a sob and a scream. Remus jerked inside of him, moving as much as he was able – not much – so that he was grinding the head of his cock right up against Sirius’ prostate. He slipped a hand down to grip Sirius’ cock, gripping it tight at the base to stop him from coming quite yet. He wanted him to last just a little longer.

Sirius hissed his name, twisted beneath him and pressed back further onto him. Remus smiled against his shoulder and nipped hard with his teeth when Sirius began to beg once more, whining and whimpering and whispering “please”. It was one of the most beautiful things he’d ever heard.

He laved Sirius’ shoulder with his tongue, worshipping the scar from his earlier mark; he scraped over it with his teeth and pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses to the tender flesh before he opened his mouth wide and bit down hard.

His lycanthropy had given him sharp teeth. Even at the new moon they were sharp enough to pierce human skin. Sirius’ blood was a bitter tang on his tongue; his shout of pleasure-pain was music. Remus loosened his grip on the base of Sirius’ cock and began to stroke it instead, pumping his hand in time with the rhythm of his grinding hips. Sirius tightened impossibly around him as he came, his back arching and his neck straining. The fingers he’d entwined with Remus’ own gripped tightly, while the other hand fisted in the sheets hard enough to pull them free of the mattress.

Remus followed him not long after, filling Sirius completely; his knot trapping his come inside of Sirius’ body. Relaxed in the aftermath of orgasm, Sirius went limp underneath him. Pliant. He suckled his own come off Remus’ fingers when he raised them to his lips, and beyond an initial whimper, made no complaint when Remus released his shoulder and began to lick it clean of blood.

Manoeuvring to hold him afterwards was no less awkward than it had been in the beginning. It would take a while for Remus’ knot to deflate far enough to be pulled comfortably free, so he remained buried inside of Sirius as they shifted together, onto their sides, to watch the ocean. The sun was just beginning to sink towards the horizon, glinting gold off the water.

“Do you feel better?” Remus asked, keeping his voice quiet. The sudden quiet between them was fragile and beautiful, and he didn’t want to break it, but he had to know. 

“I feel full,” Sirius said, wigging back against him suggestively. The smile he gave Remus over his shoulder, though, was a lot softer and kinder than any Remus had seen in days, despite the crusty streaks of semen covering his face. “A lot better,” he said.

…

He awoke to the steady, familiar rasp and rattle of Sirius’ breathing close to his ear and a cool breeze blowing in through the window. He lay there for a while, studying Sirius’ face until his Mate felt he was being watched. He shifted and cracked open his eyes to peer up at Remus before grunting softly and closing his eyes again, pressing close into Remus’ chest.

“Weird bloody werewolf,” he muttered. “Go to sleep.”

But Remus couldn’t. Even when Sirius managed to drop off again, he remained wide awake; his ears caught every cough and snuffle and sigh that Sirius made, every soothing beat of his heart. He’d done this…too many times. The first time Sirius had had an attack had terrified the life out of him – out of James and Peter too, when they’d seen how Sirius literally couldn’t breathe and watched his lips turn slowly blue before Madame Pomphrey arrived – and he’d always paid him extra attention after that, even before they’d started dating.

It was funny how easy it was to fall back into old habits.

He watched the sun rise. Watched its light stretch across the floor to the bed and catch on the silver in Sirius’ hair, turning it gold. Watched as Sirius scrunched his eyes tighter and hid instinctively from the light until it grew too much for him to ignore.

He peered up at Remus with bleary eyes and scratched absently at the stains on his cheek. “I need a shower,” he announced. 

Remus let him go; watched as he slithered out of bed and stood, stretched. He was actually enjoying the view, at least until Sirius turned at the door with a wicked grin on his face. “Join me?”

…

A week later, Moony stood and stretched and pricked his ears. There was the rhythmic rush of water close by, undrinkable. It reeked of salt and fish. There was the scent of human too - _his_ human self, and one other, Mate – and of recent mating; older traces of human and magic were there too, so old they were uninteresting, and – he inhaled deeply – House Elf.

A new scent reached him. Dog. Familiar dog. Pack. His human Mate in his more acceptable form. Lean and shaggy, but with bright eyes and a glossy coat. He was improved. The last time Moony saw him, he’d barely known him: a scrawny, mangy thing riddled with fleas and lice and worms and covered in unfamiliar scents. He was better now. Much better, but too thin still. They would have to hunt. 

He chuffed in greeting and padded over to Mate, who sprawled out on his belly in supplication before rolling over to bare his throat. Moony nuzzled him. His scent was all over the thick, soft fur. His human self had staked their claim once more, and the scent of mating was an incredible, heavy musk. He closed his jaws around Mate’s throat, too gently to break the skin, and tasted himself on Mate’s fur before he drew back and nosed Mate back onto his feet.

Mate’s tail was wagging eagerly, shaking his entire body. Moony let him rub against his side and sniff under his tail; he could feel Mate’s joy in the air between them; hear it in every whine and yip.

He turned his head and nipped at the base of Mate’s tail, making him yelp and startle, but wag his tail harder. He wanted them to play. Cocking his head, Moony agreed. It would be best to play as pack again before the hunt. Mate was the same but different and he had to know how different. He had to know what weaknesses lingered.

Mate had never been able to run for long. He was a runt, kept alive by human sentiment; stronger than he should have been, but a runt all the same. That was why Moony was Alpha.

He pounced and snapped, rolled Mate under him and revelled in the familiar sound of his growls. Sharp teeth tore at his fur, scratching at the skin beneath, and paws raked at his sides and belly. Mate’s breath was hot – still rasping, Moony noted, and worse than before – and his grip on Moony’s ear – when he got one – was strong. He batted Mate away, earning a yelp and a moment’s reprieve before Mate leapt up onto his back and forced Moony to roll to dislodge him.

When they were done, and Mate was panting, Moony rubbed along his side and nipped at his flank. Mate stood still, obedient, except for his tail which still wagged even as he moved it aside to present himself. 

He stank of mating musk, and there were traces of the slick substance their human selves used to ease things still clinging to his fur and making his entrance glisten. Moony didn’t mind. He could still smell himself even over that slick’s odd, artificial reek, and it _did_ make it easier. Mate didn’t bleed when he was wet.

Moony mounted him swiftly, closing his jaws around Mate’s scruff to hold him steady, and thrust himself into Mate’s small, tight body. Mate whimpered softly and whined. He always did. Moony growled softly to reassure him as his knot swelled, trapping him inside. He’d missed this heat. The feel of Mate soft and sweet beneath him, his tail beating against Moony’s flank and the smell of his arousal heavy in the air. Mate liked to move beneath him, nudging back even when they were locked together, as if he couldn’t get enough. Moony had learned – long, long ago – that Mate liked to be filled, deep and often, but not when pack-stag and traitor-rat had been there to see.

Their first mating over, Moony dropped back to the floor. He licked tenderly at Mate’s entrance, lapping up the spill of white that flowed out into black fur, until Mate moved away and growled that it was too much. Too much for now; Moony would mount him again later, closer to moon-set. After the hunt.

…

The hunt led them out of the old building and its smell of magic, and onto soft sand. Moony had seen sand before, at the lake by the castle, but never so much. The roaring of water was louder now, still rhythmic, and he could see its shadow lapping at the soft ground under his paws. Investigating, he found it warm – warmer than the lake – but even saltier than he’d thought.

Mate, reserved as always, plunged headlong into it, barking wildly. He swam a little – an otter sleek shape, head held high – along the shore before bounding out again and shaking water over them both. Moony nipped him for that, but soothed the reprimand with a gentle lick to Mate’s soft ears. Mate was happy here. Moony wanted Mate to be happy. He could suffer the water if it made Mate happy.

He urged Mate up from the water’s edge and into the treeline. The forest was unfamiliar and filled with the nocturnal hoots and shrieks of prey animals that shook the branches overhead. He could smell human prey some distance away, in a settlement of sorts if the stench was anything to go by, but there was the smell of magic still in the air and the human-side had knowledge of a barrier that would keep him away. He huffed. The prey in the branches it would be, if any of them came close enough to the ground.

He padded through the forest, investigating new smells in hollows and gullies; Mate trotted by his side, snuffling at the same places. Moony made sure to pause often – every time Mate’s breathing began to wheeze – under the pretence of having found something fascinating in the undergrowth.

What he caught – a foolish thing that came too close, swinging from tree branches and chattering, completely unaware of how high a werewolf could jump – smelled vaguely enough like a human to satisfy Moony’s bloodlust. It was shaped like one, even, but with longer limbs and a small, scrawny body that yielded little meat. He shared it with Mate, who couldn’t jump as high, and made sure he ate a good share, growling every time he paused.

Satisfied, Moony licked blood from his muzzle and mounted Mate a second time. The water had washed much of his scent and the traces of mating away, and he was not as slick this time. When he had thrust in deep enough to knot, he smelled blood. Mate’s blood. Only a little, but a little was too much. 

He made to dismount, but Mate snapped at him over his shoulder – fangs flashing bright and sharp and entirely too close to Moony’s snout. He bit his scruff, harder than strictly necessary, and thrust his hips in hard enough that the blood-smell grew stronger and Mate yelped loudly. There was an answering chatter from the trees – shrieking swinging things that had scattered when their pack-member had been dismembered but that had returned to spy on them – and Moony snarled up at them, snapping threateningly, though there was little he could do when locked in Mate’s body. But it was the thought that counted, and he felt Mate’s tension ease at his actions.

Mate did not like being watched when they were mating. He grew skittish and wary under scrutiny, as if he thought any observers would be aware that he was not truly a dog but a human in another shape. Mate was a strange creature, but he was Mate. He was Moony’s.

…

Remus woke up on the beach, with the taste of blood in his mouth, water lapping at his toes and sand _everywhere_. Sirius lay next to him, still in his Animagus form, watching Remus with bright eyes. His ears were pricked and twitching, swivelling to listen to the sounds of the gulls and the waves.

It was a testament to how strong the wolf still was in him, that he looked at Padfoot and still thought of him as ‘Mate’; thought his glossy coat – dulled with sea water, had they been swimming? – was beautiful. That he could look at Padfoot and get hard. 

Sirius opened his mouth in a wide doggy grin, revealing fangs and a lolling, pink tongue. Of course there was no point in trying to hide the interested twitching of his cock. The scent of it alone was enough to grab Padfoot’s attention, let alone the sight of it, jutting up and arching towards his navel, and he shifted – wiggled on his belly so that his head was on Remus’ belly.

If he had been truly human, there would have been no appeal in this, but he wasn’t and there was a certain appeal of having a mate with forms enough to match his own. They’d experimented before – Sirius more than willing, which probably said more about him than Remus – but that had been a long time ago, and he was hesitant to push his luck. Besides, sex on the beach was never a good idea.

“What did we eat?” he asked instead.

Sirius changed back, blurring ever so slightly as he transformed. It was a smooth transition between dog and man – one that Remus had always envied slightly. Sirius could change as often as he liked, never experiencing his bones breaking and his organs twisting; not like Remus.

“Monkey,” he said. “The Muggles think they’re extinct here.”

Remus groaned. Merlin, but he could have done without that last detail. Still, a near-extinct monkey was better than a person, although the Muggles from the village and the resort were all repelled by the wards. That, he supposed, was the bright side to the Blacks’ ridiculous obsession with blood purity. There had to be one _somewhere_.

Turning his gaze to the sky, away from Sirius’ penetrating look, he spotted a bird – white, but too small to be a gull – winging its way towards them. An owl. Their peace was about to be broken.


End file.
